Chapter 2 - THE BLUE THREAD
The six photographs lay across the mahogany surface of Gabriel Duca’s desk like a terrible hand of cards.
Matteo pointed to the first image. A tiny black module, no larger than a coin, wired behind the air return in the dining room.
"They’re localized," Matteo said, his voice a low gravel. "These aren't transmitting over Wi-Fi or cellular networks. The walls are too thick, the estate's signal jamming is too strong. Whoever planted them used an internal radio frequency."
Gabriel didn't sit. He stood by the tall arched window, looking out over the dark lawns. "Meaning?"
"Meaning they can't listen from downtown Chicago," Matteo replied. "The receiver has to be close. Within a few hundred yards. Maybe in the gardens. Maybe inside the house itself."
Olivia stood near the leather sofa, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her gray robe. She wanted to be back in her small staff quarters. She wanted to check on Lily, who was sound asleep three floors below. But Gabriel hadn't dismissed her.
"How long?" Gabriel asked.
"Dust patterns on the adhesive suggest they’ve been there for months," Matteo said. "But the relay in Guest Room 7? The one the dog heard? The battery was swapped recently. Within the last forty-eight hours."
Olivia felt a sudden chill. "That’s impossible," she blurted out.
Both men turned to her.
She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of her place. A maid interrupting the chief of security. But she couldn't un-know what she knew. "Guest Room 7 hasn't been opened since Tuesday. I clean that corridor myself. The lock logs will show no one swiped a keycard this weekend."
Matteo frowned, pulling up a tablet. He tapped the screen. A moment later, his expression darkened. "She’s right. No digital entries. The door wasn't opened."
"Then how did they change the battery?" Gabriel asked, his voice deathly quiet.
Olivia stepped closer to the desk. She looked at the photograph of the relay taken from the vent. In the harsh flash of the camera, she noticed something the security technicians had missed.
"Zoom in," she said, pointing at the tablet. "Right there. On the corner of the brass grille."
Matteo pinched the screen.
Caught on the jagged edge of a screw hole was a tiny, frayed piece of blue braided thread.
"It’s from a friendship bracelet," Olivia whispered. "Waxed cotton."
Gabriel stared at her. "Why do you know that?"
"Because the day before yesterday, I vacuumed the east staircase. I found another piece of that exact same thread on the carpet." She looked up, meeting Gabriel's dark eyes. "I know who wears those bracelets. The landscaping crew. They buy them from a street vendor near the service gate. But landscapers aren't allowed above the first floor."
Matteo’s jaw tightened. "Unless someone let them in. Or someone took their uniform."
"Answer one question, open two," Gabriel muttered. He walked behind his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He didn't reach for a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. The silver was worn smooth from years of handling.
Olivia watched his face change. The cold, intimidating facade slipped, revealing something that looked dangerously like fear.
Gabriel pressed the latch. The watch popped open.
There was no clock face inside.
Instead, a small, folded piece of paper rested in the hollow casing. Gabriel carefully unfolded it. Tied around the paper was a single, intact loop of blue braided thread.
He placed the note on the desk.
In clipped, block letters, the message read: I know what you did in Oak Park. And I am listening.
"Oak Park," Olivia breathed, her heart slamming against her ribs.
That was where her mother lived. Where Lily spent her weekends.
May you like
Matteo reached for his radio, but before he could press the button, the heavy oak doors of the library slammed shut on their own. The mechanical deadbolts engaged with a sharp clack.
Gabriel looked at the doors, then down at the watch. "Matteo. We aren't locking someone out. We just locked someone in."
